The Void and the Rose
by EitakaJasont
Summary: To avenge the death of his sister, Ralof of Riverwood becomes a malicious doppelganger of the Dragonborn. The need for vengeance and the dark magic converge to become the Void within him. Meanwhile, a woman from Cyrodiil arrives in Riverwood to visit her cousin, Hadvar the Imperial. Her name is Rose. Six months after the end of Skyrim's Civil War.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Ralof had been less than a mile from Riverwood, on his way home for a short visit, when he had seen the dragon appear. The beast had roared and begun to circle the town. Without wasting a moment, Ralof had begun to race toward the village. Now, as he neared the town, he could see exactly what was happening.

The dragon was perched atop a house, spewing a stream of fire toward the main street below. A man was standing amid the tornado of fire, shield raised against the flames. Villagers were running to and fro, terrified and confused. They needed to get off the street and find shelter, but they knew their wooden homes would be no match for the dragon's fire breath.

The wyrm leapt from the rooftop and began circling the village once more. The man with the shield shouted orders at the villagers and tried to usher them from the street. Ralof saw Alvor the blacksmith and his family race across the road. Close behind them was Ralof's sister, Gerdur. Suddenly, Alvor's daughter Borthe stumbled and fell to the ground. Her parents kept running, unaware that their child had fallen. Gerdur flew past the child, then stopped and turn around. She shouted something over her shoulder as she ran back to help Borthe. The child, completely terrified, got to her feet just as Gerdur reached her.

"Run!" Gerdur shouted at the child, who stood petrified before her. "GO!"

Confused in her terror, Borthe ran back the way she had come. Gerdur shouted after her, but the child kept running. Gerdur started to go after her, then stopped and whirled around. Alvor had realized that Borthe had fallen behind, and now he was back on the street. Gerdur shouted something across the road to him and pointed in the direction Borthe had gone.

Suddenly, Ralof saw the dragon stop its circling and plunge once more toward the town, this time with twice the speed. The beast swooped low, tucking in its enormous wings just enough to fit between the buildings that bordered the street. The dragon opened its jaws, and sparks flashed between its jagged teeth. It was coming in so fast, so fast.

Then Ralof saw and heard everything in slow motion. The dragon plunging down, ready to spew fire... The scream tearing from his sister's lips as she realized she had no hope of getting out of the way fast enough to avoid the searing flames... The yell of terror that came from Alvor as he raised his arms to shield his face... And the Dragonborn, racing down the street with his shield raised and a roar of determination pouring from his lungs.

Ralof forced more power into his legs, running, sword drawn, trying to reach his sister before the dragon did. He would never make it in time. He would never make it in time!

But the Dragonborn was nearly there...

The dragon's flames erupted from its mouth and came barreling down the street in front of the beast.

Then Ralof saw it. He saw the mighty Dovahkiin hesitate as he raced down the street toward Gerdur and Alvor.

They were on opposite side of the street. Close enough to both be enveloped in the storm of fire, but not nearly close enough to both take shelter behind the Dragonborn's shield.

The Dovahkiin would have to choose.

Ralof kept going, trying to outrun the flames even though he knew it was useless. He saw the Dragonborn hurtling down the street, barely ahead of the tornado of fire. He could not tell exactly whom the Dovahkiin was running toward, Alvor or Gerdur.

The flames enveloped the entire street, and Ralof had to shield his face from the heat. He came to a halt to avoid running straight into the scorching storm, and a yell that took the form of his sister's name burst from his lips. He kept running, blind and panicked.

It was all over by the time he uncovered his face. The dragon lay dead on the edge of the street with an enormous gash in its throat. A flood of colorful energy flew from the beast's corpse and swirled around the Dragonborn, impairing Ralof's view of the scene once again.

Something felt wrong.

Ralof kept running.

The dragon's energy cleared as he reached the Dragonborn and...

Alvor. The Dovahkiin had saved Alvor.

Ralof stopped dead in his tracks. A few feet away, the charred body of his sister lay twisted in the dirt. He sank to his knees and dropped his sword as tears clouded his vision. She was gone. She was gone.

Moments later, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Ralof, I am truly sorry." The Dragonborn's voiced sounded far away. "I could not reach your sister in time. I –"

She was gone. She was taken. She was murdered. She was...not saved. Not chosen!

Ralof was up in an instant, sword in hand, and facing the Dovahkiin with a look of rage driven to the brink of madness by grief.

"You let her die!" the Stormcloak roared. "You had a choice, and you let my sister die! You murdered her!"

"Ralof, please," the Drgaonborn said as he took a step back and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. His tone was half plea and half warning. "I would have saved her if I could, I swear to you."

"LIAR!" Ralof bellowed. "You chose to save _him_, just like you chose to follow Hadvar at Helgen. Of course you chose to save the uncle of your Imperial friend. Would you have saved Gerdur if you had followed me that day, Dovahkiin? Would you?"

"Ralof, calm down, please. Your grief is twisting your thoughts."

The Stormcloak screamed in rage and heartbreak and leapt toward the Dragonborn, sword raised and eyes livid. The Dovahkiin leapt to the side, drew his sword, and brought the flat of the blade down across Ralof's back as the Stormcloak landed beside him. Ralof lost his grip on his sword and tumbled to the ground. The Stormcloak soldier raised his head and turned his face toward the Dragonborn, his eyes full of ice and fire and acid and _hate_.

"You are no hero, Drgaonborn," Ralof growled, his voice now dangerously low and quiet. "You are a puppet of the Imperials and a murderer, and you will pay for what you have done here today, mark my words. You will suffer, your precious blacksmith will suffer, your Imperial friend Hadvar will suffer, and all Imperial scum will suffer!"

The Dragonborn stepped forward and brought the butt of his sword down on Ralof's head. The grief and the rage and the world faded into empty black.


	2. The Volunteer

**The Volunteer**

Ralof tugged absentmindedly at the braided hair that hung by the side of his face as he glanced around the dimly-lit cavern. The group of Stormcloak soldiers – ragged and war-hardened men and women who numbered no more than forty at the most – were gathered around him, shuffling their feet impatiently or whispering amongst themselves.

They had been waiting weeks for orders, plans, ideas – anything besides being holed up in a cave with no idea what to do next. Defeat at the hands of the Imperials and the Dragonborn had demoralized them, but being confined to this damp and crowded cavern had only made matters worse. Irritability and anxiety had begun to morph into seeds of madness as the weeks turned into months.

But today the remaining band of Stormcloaks had all been gathered to the rear of the cavern to hear an announcement. Ralof prayed it would be good news; he knew the soldiers could not take much more of this.

The whispering quieted somewhat as Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced stepped onto the large, flat rock that served as a stage before the audience of soldiers. The leader of the Stormcloak scanned the crowd, his eyes locking onto a few familiar faces – including Ralof's.

Yrsarald had managed to survive the final battle at Windhelm, fleeing with a handful of soldiers once it was clear the Imperials and their Dragonborn would be the victors. Ralof had been one of those soldiers, and not a day had passed in the long months since the war that he did not feel guilty for his choice to live rather than die alongside his lord Ulfric. He wondered if Yrsarald felt the same.

The leader of the Stormcloaks cleared his throat loudly and all chatter amongst the soldiers ceased. They had been waiting months for this – a plan, new orders.

"My fellow soldiers," Yrsarald began. "As you know, we are all that remain of our Lord Ulfric's army. We are proof that Ulfric's purpose cannot be crushed – that his legacy and his dreams cannot be defeated by the likes of the Imperial Legion and their pet Dragonborn."

Members of the crowd voiced their agreement by cursing the Empire and the Dovahkiin. Ralof kept silent. The Dragonborn was not worth even a curse in his mind – not after what he had done.

"These past months since the war have been difficult for us all," Yrsarald said, making eye contact with as many of the soldiers as he could. "But I can assure you that we will not be spending the rest of our lives in hiding. The Stormcloaks will rise again, and this time we will be the victors."

A few cheers broke out, but the majority of the crowd was still burdened with a sense of hopelessness.

"But I have not called you together to give you a long-winded speech about hope," Yrsarald continued, sensing that the soldier wanted orders, not promises. "I have called you together so that I may ask for a volunteer.

"General Kottir and I have developed a plan to overthrow the oppression of the Empire and the Thalmor and bring the Nords to power. I cannot explain the details to you at this time, for this plan hinges on secrecy. But I assure you that all will be revealed to you in time."

A quiet murmuring arose in the ranks as the soldiers grumbled about their dislike of secrecy. Again, Ralof said nothing and simply waited for Yrsarald to continue. The Stormcloak leader went on,

"Whoever volunteers will have to endure pain and effects that may be irreversible. This person will also face many dangers that none of us have encountered before. Also keep in mind that the volunteer must be cunning and able to rely on wits just as much as brute strength. The task involves interacting with the Imperials and many other people under a guise. It will be extremely dangerous and the risk of death is high."

The quiet murmuring grew into a small roar, and the soldiers eyed each other with looks of uneasiness in their eyes. They were used to marching in groups and attacking directly, not sneaking around like members of the Thieves Guild.

"As leader of the Stormcloaks, I am needed here and therefore cannot volunteer myself. But I will not force anyone to volunteer. The choice is yours. Now, do I have a volunteer for this task?"

Silence.

Ralof stared intently at Yrsarald. The man was trying to hide his anxiety. This was the moment of truth – Yrsarald knew it, and Ralof could see it in his eyes. If no one volunteered, the plan would go no further.

Suddenly, Ralof was not in the cave. There was no group of weary soldiers, no Yrsarald, no silence.

The air was filled with a mighty roar, and a gust of air pounded against the earth.

_Running._

_Seeing, hearing. Thunderous roar, blinding flash._

_Yelling, racing, hoping, praying._

Yrsarald watched in silence as the soldiers looked around at each other, waiting for someone – anyone – to volunteer so they would not have to. Seconds turned into minutes, and still no one came forward.

_Stopping, falling. Full eyes, hollow soul. Outward sobs, internal roar._

_Warm liquid tears, cold stone heart._

_Hot white rage, frigid black void._

"I will do it."

All eyes flew to the man who had spoken.

The crowd parted as the volunteer made his way toward Yrsarald.

He looked like an ordinary soldier. His had blonde hair and a small braid that hung by the side of his face. His beard and mustache were cut short. His face was emotionless, but his eyes flashed his tears held back and wrath reawakened.

"What is your name, soldier?" Yrsarald asked once the man had reached him.

"Ralof of Riverwood," he replied.

* * *

Hello, there! Thanks for reading! Updates for this story will most likely be somewhat far-between due to lack of free time, but I like the idea of this fic and will definitely work on it whenever I can.

Thanks again for reading! This is my first fic, but that doesn't mean you have to go easy on me! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. :)


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